


Violence and Variations II

by simplesetgo



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: Anal Sex, Ass to Mouth, Breathplay, D/s, Exhibitionism, F/F, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-27
Updated: 2011-08-27
Packaged: 2017-10-23 02:51:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/245493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplesetgo/pseuds/simplesetgo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fashionably late fill for the 2011 Femslash Kink Meme. See tags for summary? Herein you'll find <i>Cara topping Kahlan</i>, but, just for kicks, there's an alternate and mostly identical version <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/245491">here</a> wherein the opposite is true if you prefer that!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Violence and Variations II

**Author's Note:**

> My porn keeps getting dirtier, idk. I guess I'm waiting for someone to yell at me in all caps that I've scarred or scandalized them. Until then!
> 
> Title from Bear McCreary's BSG:S3 score.

It is, altogether, not an uncommon event in Kahlan’s life. Hardly a strange and new sensory experience. Someone has her bent over an exquisite dining table and is fucking her fiercely. She feels a warm palm on the small of her back, pressing her down. Somehow she knows it’s Cara’s hand, knows that Cara has the purest form of Kahlan’s desire strapped securely to her hips. The tabletop is cool, firm marble to her cheek, to her breasts and her belly; the soles of Kahlan’s feet rest on cold tiles of stone. But her groin: the cheeks of her ass, her sex and the place inside of her that Cara is fucking into—these are all on fire.

Kahlan moans. Before she opens her eyes she knows she has an audience: they’re in Cara’s old home, the Mord-Sith temple where the blonde was truly born. The long table is populated by her Sisters, their appreciative smirks fully focused on Kahlan’s abasement. Denna, Triana, Constance, and many others are bearing smug and silent witness to her domination. But Cara’s hands shift up and her fingertips curl and flex around Kahlan’s shoulders, holding her like a vice, and Kahlan knows she is possessed.

Cara pulls her back into every thrust, every drive into Kahlan’s cunt, and the brunette’s body bows a bit, her spine dipping. Cara holds her like that, arched and quivering under her, holds her arms rigid as her hips churn and grind against Kahlan’s. Kahlan is pliant. She is submissive. She is needy. Cara has never felt more powerful. The air around them is charged with something primal and dangerous, a raw bloodlust, and Cara won’t stop until it’s sated.

She looks down to where her sweat-slick body is meeting Kahlan’s own, from the milky expanse of her back to where the tops of her own thighs are smacking loudly against Kahlan’s round ass. Suddenly she drives in deep and holds: pulls Kahlan closer to her, almost lifting her off the table. The brunette pants out a rough moan—she’s stuffed full and it’s almost like Cara has grown larger inside her—while Cara breathes deep at the burn in her own muscles.

She pulls free, emptying Kahlan of the phallus’ length bit by bit. Kahlan feels its absence like a pang of longing, of regret, and a soft whine leaves her throat. She lifts her ass, pleading, pushing up to the tips of her toes. Cara looks down and sees her desire like it’s written across her back. She strokes the phallus, slick-wet with Kahlan’s arousal, and raises it to sit against Kahlan’s ass. Their audience knows what’s next: there’s a slight, collective murmur rising from the braided Mord-Sith, and some sit forward eagerly. Cara pushes hard and firm and the rounded tip slips into Kahlan’s ass; she can nearly feel the tightness, but she can surely see the way Kahlan is stretching around her.

Kahlan’s arms fly from her sides: she grips the table’s sides and grits her teeth. Pleasure is blooming from pain and she lifts her head to keen as Cara drives the phallus deep. There is such control, such fierce and uncompromising will exerted, that Kahlan’s very breath is controlled by Cara’s slow, rough thrusts. Her asshole is filled and she exhales; Cara pulls nearly free and Kahlan breathes in. The burn of it is like a salve to her desire, like a promise that catharsis is imminent.

Cara watches, lips parted, watches as she fucks Kahlan’s ass open. She can drive it to the base: all of it in her and Kahlan’s body takes it, effortless and hungry. It seems that fucking Kahlan like this comes naturally, that she’s done this very act countless times before—sometimes rougher, sometimes not. Cara reaches out, fists a handful of Kahlan’s long, lush hair, and jerks back hard. Kahlan’s body snaps back in turn, and she yells out: Cara smiles loosely and starts to fuck into her like a wild beast might rut with its mate. She leans over Kahlan a bit, putting weight into her forearm across Kahlan’s back, holding her down. She yanks on Kahlan’s hair, assuring her face is up for all her Sisters to see. Cara knows Kahlan’s mouth is slack, knows her eyelids are fluttering, her pale cheeks flushed dark.

“Tell them who you belong to,” Cara says. “Tell them.”

Kahlan’s mind is hazed over by bright pulses of pleasure: every thrust into her ass accelerates her release and she can barely mutter, “You.”

Cara hisses in displeasure. She stands straight, yanks Kahlan up by her hair, pulls Kahlan’s body flush to her own. She wraps an arm tight around Kahlan’s throat while her other hand slips down between Kahlan’s legs. “Tell them,” Cara says again, calmly and between thrusts, “who owns you. Tell them my name, so they’re sure.”

Kahlan gasps, because Cara’s hips are still pumping that unforgiving length of cock in and out of her, because Cara’s arm tightens threateningly around her throat and she can’t breathe for just long enough to worry. “Cara,” Kahlan forces out, voice broken and strangled, and Cara’s fingers find her clit slick and swollen and begin to stroke. She sucks in a ragged breath. “I belong to Cara,” she says to them, willing strength into her speech because Cara has drained her of it. “She is…my Mistress.”

“Come,” Cara orders in a voice soft in the silence, “for me. Only for me.”

Her forearm presses to Kahlan’s throat as the paroxysm of her orgasm wells up and takes her. Cara drives the phallus deep and holds it there while her fingers stroke and drag against Kahlan’s clit. There’s nothing frantic or desperate, even though Kahlan’s lungs are starved for air. She trusts her Mistress. The deep throb in her groin resonates pleasure and Kahlan’s eyes open to tingling blackness. Her empty cunt spasms around nothing, but her asshole milks Cara’s phallus with every clench. Distantly, she wishes the thing were real: that she could feel warm seed dripping from her opened ass as Cara pulled out. Air floods her lungs, sweet and fresh, when Cara lets her free all at once. Her arms no longer support Kahlan as the phallus slides free in turn. Kahlan feels cold where Cara’s body was against her.

She collapses forward, boneless, empty, abandoned, sucking in breath after breath. There are murmurs of approval from the Mord-Sith at the table. “Well done, Sister Cara,” says a voice above the others. “A most satisfactory display.”

Kahlan looks back over her shoulder. Cara is standing tall, naked but proud, her long, blonde hair tightly braided behind her back. Her skin shines with sweat; every muscle and curve is strong in golden light. “But we’re not done,” Cara says lightly, motioning to Kahlan. The brunette scrambles to obey: she climbs onto the table’s top and lays on her back, upside down, her head hanging freely off the table’s edge.

Cara steps to her, eyes dark green, lips curled up, and she strokes the considerable length of the phallus with her hand: pumps her fist up and down the shaft just like a man would. Kahlan opens her mouth invitingly and Cara sets the cock at her lips. Then she pushes into Kahlan’s mouth, slowly but surely: pushes into her mouth and farther yet. She watches a telltale bulge in Kahlan’s throat grow and grow, until Kahlan’s lips are pressed to the base, to Cara’s leather harness. She watches Kahlan’s throat spasm, struggle to accept the intrusion. Cara pulls back and thrusts into her, hard. A loud, continuous sucking noise fills the hall as Cara sets a harsh pace. The Mord-Sith watch her display of dominance with approval and a few raised brows.

Cara is fucking Kahlan’s throat as hard as she just fucked her ass, maybe harder: she only gives Kahlan breath enough to keep her conscious. Because she can get off from this alone, the sight of her cock bulging strong in Kahlan’s shapely throat with every thrust. The exercise of such power over another floods her mind with pleasure acute in its own right. Kahlan is getting no pleasure of her own from this. She’s just submitting. She just wants what Cara wants to give her. Cara takes Kahlan’s breasts in her palms: slaps one roughly, again, and then the other. Twists her nipples just because she can. When her own orgasm rocks into her she plants her palms on either side of Kahlan’s chest to brace herself. Her hips stutter as she pushes, pushes, deeper, harder, and silently wills Kahlan to take it, just a little longer. After a shuddering breath of release, she pulls back, emptying Kahlan’s throat and pulling free of her mouth.

For a second, Cara is uneasy. It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s been fucked to death within the walls of a Mord-Sith temple, but it would speak to a lack of control on her part. Then Kahlan coughs, turns to the side and heaves out saliva and bile, and focuses wide, blue eyes on Cara.

There’s a heavy iron collar snapped shut around Kahlan’s neck, and a chain placed in Cara’s hand. Kahlan stands behind Cara in silence, head bowed, ass burning and cunt aching and throat sore, while Cara speaks a few words of education and enlightenment as to the true ownership of a pet to her peers. Then she turns and jerks on the chain. Kahlan stumbles and then trots after her Mistress on weakened knees as they leave the hall.

There’s something about this stone corridor: it seems like there couldn’t be anything on the other side of these walls except an unshaped void. That these doors they’re passing open to nothing, that the temple exists in a time between times. But the cold iron around her neck, the adoration she feels when Cara looks to her and tells her she did well: those are solid, and real, to Kahlan.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Q: Why two versions? If you can swap characters' names like that, wouldn't that speak to weak characterization more than anything else?_
> 
> A: Normally I think so! But this fic, besides being plotless porn and thus easily given to a thing like that, was written with this in mind to some degree. I've always been fascinated by how similar Kahlan and Cara really are, and this was one way to explore how fluid their roles can be--in the bedroom or elsewhere.


End file.
